


the human things that we do

by goukyorin (sashimisusie)



Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashimisusie/pseuds/goukyorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>We are human</i>, the ungentle rhythm of their movements seems to cry out. His heart beats a hammer-staccato in his chest, his tongue is a cotton-wool mess in his mouth, and he lets himself go with the ebb and flow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the human things that we do

They do not do this often.

But every so often, the weight of living presses down so heavily upon Lafayette's shoulders and it seems as if the water will never run clean for the blood on his hands. How can men live like this, ever-young and ever-straining at the leash of their vows, the young man--relatively speaking—finds himself wondering as he winds his way through the corridors. It is times like these that he finds himself wandering to Grayson with gaze lidded and the top stud of his collar undone, and times like those that the man does not push him away when he steps to close the friendly distance between their bodies.

Perhaps sadness softens his mouth into an easier shape to kiss. Perhaps Grayson can hear the creaking of his heart, an echoing so loud that he is surprised when the room is silent for the lack of their speaking. Perhaps it is all of these things, none of these things, and something else.

But in any case, hands move to unlace and unbutton, fingers stroking down and over well-mapped territory.  _Mine_ , each nip of teeth against pale skin says.  _Yours_ , each cry murmurs in return as deadbolts fall into place and lights turn down low. Grayson is constancy and consistency, the rock upon which Lafayette’s whims crash and when they meet at last--at long last, the shiver of expectation pooling low at the base of his spine--there is nothing gentle about it.

His head, his back, his shoulders meet the wall, a kiss and a brush with near-violence. _Come and try me_ , the look in his gaze taunts, and for good measure, Lafayette smirks. He wants, the rusty bolts of his shackled heart tugging just a fraction looser, to feel and to err. To err is to be human, and to be human is to know love and loss, if only for a few stolen grains of time from the frozen hourglass of their lives.

He sighs against the shell of Grayson’s ear, a hitch to the exhalation that indicates a closeness to pleasure that he is loath to admit.  _He_ pushes to breaking, and  _he_  takes it all until the long years of emptiness seem a little further away, lost and forgotten in the slick heat of their closeness.

 _We are human,_  the ungentle rhythm of their movements seems to cry out, even as Lafayette stifles his own cries. His heart beats a hammer-staccato in his chest, his tongue is a cotton-wool mess in his mouth, and he lets himself go with the ebb and flow.

They are human, still.

**Author's Note:**

> Please see [ [this poem](http://sincerelyjoanna.tumblr.com/post/50191685785) ] for the inspiration. The sketch at the start is mine.


End file.
